When in Rome
by Jason Gaston
Summary: Rembrandt accidentally gets in the middle of a power struggle that could determine the fate of a 21st century Roman Empire!


"When in Rome…"   
by   
Jason Gaston 

edited by Mike Truman   
beta-read by Jayelle Carey  


* * *

_Previously on Infinite Slides:_

_Quinn is dead and the remaining sliders have entered into an uneasy truce with the evil Logan Saint Claire. Now, putting the pain behind them, they are continuing their search for home._

* * *

A wrinkle formed across the bridge of Rembrandt Brown's nose as he emptied the last little bit of ketchup from a squeeze bottle onto his plate, expelling its contents onto his food with an undignified farting sound. He dipped his French fry into the paste and held it up in front of him, his face twisted in revulsion. 

"Come on, Rembrandt," Wade Wells whispered, prompting him onward. "It's just the color!" 

Rembrandt put the fry back down onto his plate and looked Wade square in the face. "If it's just the color, how come I don't see YOU eating any, girl?" 

"Simple," she said with a sly grin, "I'm a vegetarian." 

"It's not like you can't eat ketchup with your French fries," Rembrandt snapped back. "Wade, I can get used to a lot of things… I can get used to the idea of a world where men get pregnant, I can understand a world where people go naked, and I can even get the jive of an Earth where there are tornadoes every hour on the hour, but girl… green ketchup is where I draw the line." 

Maggie Beckett and Logan St. Clair watched from the other side of the dining booth as a statue of a clown with green hair watched over them, a set of golden arches displayed proudly overhead. "You've got to admit, guys…" Logan said, "that stuff looks nasty." 

Rembrandt huffed an acknowledgment. "Yeah, like you'd find in the bottom of a baby's diaper." 

Maggie had been enjoying her meal, the slider's last meal on this close-to-Earth-Prime-but-not-quite-there world. But after Rembrandt made his comment about diapers, she placed her ketchup-smothered burger on her plate and never looked at it again. During wartime, she had eaten anything from beetles to roasted rat to stay alive, but the thought of what Rembrandt had just said was just too much even for her usually strong constitution. "Thank you, Rembrandt," she said, mourning the senseless loss of a meal. "Thank you so very much." 

"Not a bad world," Logan said, changing the subject as quickly as she could. "The colors are a little off, but it's been nice." 

"Glad to have a quiet world for once," Rembrandt agreed. "Once you get used to yellow grass, red skies, and white streets, that is." He checked his watch and looked out the restaurant window. "He's got ten minutes. Where do you think he could be?" 

"I'm sure he's wrapping up with his… associate," Wade said. "You know how they are when they get together. I'm sure they just wanted to keep their heads together as long as they could." 

"Yeah… they're just alike. Pompous, egotistical, and sexist, but I've got to admit," Logan said, "the two of them did a lot for the timers. With all the repairs and modifications, it looks like they might actually hold together until we can get a replacement or fix them both completely." 

"I'm surprised they worked so well together," Rembrandt added. "For a while, they were at each other's throats." 

"The professor loves a brilliant mind," Logan sighed. "And you've got to admit, if you've ever questioned that the man was in love with himself, I think that the last few days have been proof positive." 

Maggie and Rembrandt laughed, but Wade didn't. She was troubled and had to ask herself when Logan so easily became a part of their inner circle. Sure, a four-week stay on a quiet world with a gracious host had given them time to relax for once without having to worry about the world exploding or running for their lives. Maybe their everyday everyworld high stress existence lent a lot to the group's hard feelings. Hell, it wasn't until they had time to catch their breath several months ago that she and Maggie began to get along. 

Wade quickly put that thought out of her mind. She could never forget who Logan was and what she tried to do… what she HAD done. Wade and her friends may have been unfortunately tethered with Logan for now, but she knew it was only a matter of time until Logan cut that tether and left them stranded. 

This camaraderie shtick she was vomiting out was nothing but an act and it was making her sick. 

Wade watched Logan laugh at something Rembrandt had said… something Wade didn't hear. It was as if Logan wasn't laughing at Remmy's witty quip, but rather she was laughing at Wade herself as if to say, "I'm one of you now, Wade. I've taken your darling Quinn's place and there's nothing you can do about it." 

Wade wasn't even thinking when her elbow knocked her soda over, sending the contents spilling over into Logan's lap. 

Logan leapt to her feet with a shout, as did Rembrandt who also received a dousing. 

"Oh, God," Wade said quickly, "I'm sorry!" Of course, she was really only apologizing to Rembrandt. 

"It's alright," Logan said, slinging the sticky fluid off her fingers. "Accidents happen. Excuse me." She walked to the restroom to clean herself up. 

"She didn't get any on her timer, did she?" Maggie said in muted alarm. 

"Naw," Rembrandt said. "She held it under the table." 

Wade mentally kicked herself. 'That was stupid,' she told herself. 'If I'd gotten any on that timer, it could have shorted out and left us stranded here. Real smooth, Wade. Real smooth.' 

None of them noticed at first that Professor Arturo had entered the restaurant with his female associate. She was stocky for a woman, dark black hair tied back into an efficient bun and peppered with gray streaks. Her eyes, reflecting the many passing years they had seen, were framed by scholarly spectacles but still had a hint of mischievousness lying just under the surface. 

"Hello everyone," she said, her proper English dialect dripped with sadness. 

Wade gave the woman a hug. She knew it was only a matter of time before they had to say good-bye. "I'm glad you made it, Maxine." 

"Oh, child… I wouldn't miss this for anything," the woman replied. 

"Where's Logan?" Arturo asked. 

"She had a little accident," Remmy explained looking over at Wade and probably suspecting it wasn't an accident after all. "She's in the bathroom getting cleaned up." 

Arturo's female professor friend finished giving Maggie a hug. "Now," she said, "you have this world's coordinates stored in your timer. Come back for a visit in a few months, understand?" 

"We promise," Rembrandt reassured her, giving the woman a hug. "You've been so good to us while we were here." 

"And I'm going to keep working on your problem," the woman said, pushing her glasses back on her nose. "No promises, but – if you're able to – do come back, and maybe I'll have something for you. It may not be something that will get you home, but at least it could point you in the right direction." 

"We will," Maggie said. 

Logan came out of the bathroom still with a sticky mess covering her shirt and shorts. "Professor," she said to Arturo as a greeting. She turned to his companion with a smile. "Professor." 

"How long do we have?" Arturo asked. 

Logan checked. "Four minutes. We'd better get ready." She looked at the professor and smirked. "So, what's your feeling on meeting an alternately sexed counterpart." 

"It's been a strange experience for sure. The idea of a person being male on one Earth and female on another is… mind-boggling to say the least. To think that the genius of Maxine Arturo is housed in the minds of men is disconcerting at least. No offense, Max." 

"None taken, Maxine," Arturo said in response. He picked up a French fry and, much to the disgust of the others, dipped it in the gooey green ketchup and happily ate it. "Delicious," he said. 

Rembrandt and the others shuddered. 

"Truthfully, I knew that the day was coming when I would meet a female counterpart of myself, but it was nowhere near as awkward as I thought it would be. At least, it wasn't after the screaming and yelling at each other." Arturo grinned at Maxine. "In fact, it's been rather pleasant to have someone of equal intelligence to converse with." 

"Don't flatter yourself, Professor," Maxine cautioned with a smile as she once again adjusted her glasses. "You ARE a man, after all." 

----- 

Rembrandt had gotten used to seeing a lot of things during his time as an interdimensional traveler, but the sight of a concrete wall below him was one he could never get used to in a million years. Not because concrete fences were unusual, but because he knew that the second he saw one, it was going to be another in a long line of rough and very painful landings. 

Rembrandt, as it turned out, was right… dead on the money, so to speak. He landed on top of the fence hard, his legs straddling either side and his groin feeling as if it'd been smashed with a baseball bat. He howled in pain until Logan slammed into him knocking them both off into the bushes of an elaborate garden. 

Rembrandt remained on the ground for a few seconds until he heard the wormhole snap shut overhead. 

"You alright, Rembrandt?" Logan asked him. 

"I'll be fine," he said. His voice was strained and he had to stop to cough. "Everything seems intact, but I wouldn't be counting on any Rembrandt juniors in the near future." 

He looked up to gauge their surroundings. They were standing in a beautiful garden full of bushes, roses, and marble statues. A few hundred feet from them, a large stone manor sat decked out in white columns and a red roof. Butterflies danced happily around them as blossoms from the large tree canopy fell like snowflakes. A pair of peacocks strutted away from them, clucking lightly as their heads bobbed up and down, their decorative feathers tucked away behind them. 

"Where are the others?" Rembrandt finally asked. 

Logan looked around. "I don't know. I didn't see them." 

"GUYS!? WHERE ARE YOU!?" he shouted, hoping that they hadn't been separated in the wormhole again. 

"Over here," the voice of Professor Arturo replied from the other side of the concrete wall. "At the moment, (OW!) Miss Wells, Miss Beckett, and I are trying (AH!) to untangle ourselves from a very thorny overgrowth!" 

"Are you two okay?" Maggie called to Logan and Rembrandt. 

Rembrandt looked around the well-manicured grounds again. "Well, you know what they say about the grass being greener on the other side? It's very true. They oughta feature this place on Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous." 

He heard the professor utter a very undignified curse that questioned Rembrandt's parentage. "Try to find a way out. We're in some kind of an alleyway back here. We'll meet you on the main street in front of this mansion." 

Not liking the idea of splitting up so early into a slide, Wade stared at the troublesome barrier. "Hey," she shouted, "you guys could probably just scale this wall." 

"And land in whatever nasty made Max squeal like a baby?" came Logan's reply. "No thanks." 

Maggie rolled her eyes. "Just meet us in front then." 

"Will do," Rembrandt replied, not bothering to hide his smile. 

He and Logan began walking towards the large stone home. Rembrandt was walking with a noticeable limp and was in a little amount of pain. "I tell you what, girl," he began, "it's landings like that that almost make me wish I was a female counterpart." 

"A few more landings like that and you will be," Logan playfully told him. 

They rounded a corner and came face to face with a rather overweight man in a toga. He looked up from a grapevine he'd been tending and regarded the two intruders with shock and alarm. He had laurels in his curly graying hair and he seemed very surprised to see Rembrandt and Logan. He had a freshly cut rose in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. His nose was a bright red indicating that he had been enjoying his wine perhaps a little too much. 

"Whoa, it's okay, man," Rembrandt said, holding his hands up. "We just took a wrong turn and we're just leaving." 

The man in the toga just stared at them. 

"Give up the diplomatic approach, Rembrandt," Logan said out of the corner of her mouth. "Look at this guy. The robes, the wine, that stupid plant hat thing… he's a Roman." 

"Yeah, Logan, I kind of figured," Rembrandt said in annoyance. 

She continued. "Let's just get out of here. This little fat savage can't do anything to us!" 

With that, the little fat savage's eyes narrowed into slits. He threw down his rose and stuck his hand in his robes, and produced a cellular telephone a few seconds later. Rembrandt and Logan watched in disbelief as the Roman dialed. 

The two sliders could hear the operator's voice amplified over the phone. "Eye-Ex-Eye-Eye, what is your emergency?" 

"I have a pair of trespassers in my home who are threatening me," the fat little Roman said calmly. "They're dressed as commoners and I fear that they're going to rob me. Please send the centurions quickly… my address is eye-eye-eye, eye-vee, vee-eye-eye-eye, vee-eye-eye Rodeus Drive." 

"I think that's our cue to leave," Rembrandt said to Logan. 

Logan nodded. "Good idea." 

They turned to run, but the fat man in the toga snapped his fingers and called out. "Anthony! Cleopatra!" 

Two enormous Dobermans tore around the corner of the house and raced towards Logan and Rembrandt. Just when it looked like the two attack dogs were going to leap in for the kill, they just stopped where they were, growling and baring their teeth with an eye fixed on Logan and Rembrandt. 

"I would suggest you not move," the fat man said with a smug grin on his face. "At the snap of my fingers, Anthony and Cleopatra will strike and you will find yourselves emerging from several Doberman recti sometime tomorrow morning." 

"Perish the thought," Logan said, wisely not moving a muscle, but quietly regretting her use of the word "perish." 

----- 

Arturo, Maggie, and Wade sat on the curb waiting for Rembrandt and Logan to join them. It was a nice neighborhood. Upscale to put it mildly. The streets where cobblestone and the houses were all made of the same white marble with red tile roofs and gigantic stone columns. The professor glanced over at a nearby mailbox and noted that the street address was in Roman numerals. III-IV-VIII-VII. 

"Unless this is just one neighborhood's obsession with theming, I'd surmise we've landed in a world where California is part of some sort of Roman state." 

"Roman world?" Maggie asked. 

Wade sighed. "Well, that's just great, but who didn't see this coming at one point or another? Seriously, show of hands?" She raised her hand and was a little disappointed that her two friends didn't play along. 

"Where the hell are they?" the professor mumbled. "They should have found their way here by now!" 

"Come on, Professor," Wade said playfully, hitting him on the arm. "It's a little early in the slide for someone to get arrested." 

It was then that sirens cut through the peaceful neighborhood air. Maggie and Arturo threw Wade the coldest looks. "Wade, for the next hour, please don't say another word," Arturo cautioned her. 

---- 

Wade, Maggie, and the professor watched from a safe distance as squad car LIV arrived with sirens blazing. On the side of the vehicle, they noted the words "Lacus Angelus Centurion Legion" and the almost humorous "Dial IX-I-I." 

The officers' uniforms were a royal red color with no sleeves, only golden tassels hanging down covering their upper arms. Instead of pants, they both wore something akin to a Scottish kilt; only it was accented with thin golden plates of armor. Both were carrying what looked like ceremonial swords… at least, the sliders assumed (and hoped) they were for ceremony. 

The centurions marched to the gate to the backyard, their feet moving in perfect unison. The higher-ranking law keeper (they assumed he was higher-ranked due to his uniform being more opulently decorated with feathers and more pronounced armor) knocked on the gate and then took two respectful steps backward. 

"Senator," the head centurion began, "I am Centurion Claudius with Centurion in Training Bernardo. We humbly request entry to your…" 

"Oh, for Jupiter's sake, come in!" The fat senator commanded, impatient with the guard's annoyingly close attention to senatorial protocol. "They're back here." 

The Senator led the two officers to his backyard where the two enormous Dobermans were still guarding Rembrandt and Logan. "Good gods," Centurion Claudius exclaimed. "Honored Senator, I do believe this is a first for me in all my years serving the empire. This might get on the cover of the Empirical Enquirer." 

"Listen to me, Centurion," the Senator said with a not-so-subtle warning in his voice, "I want nothing said of this to anyone, do you understand me? The empire is in turmoil enough already without having any gods-forsaken reporters snooping around my estate." 

The centurion nodded. "Understood, Honored Senator. Shall I remove the intruders from your estate?" 

The Senator slumped. "No, Centurion, I thought that maybe you and they would like to join me for wine and biscuits." 

"No thanks," Logan said with a smirk, "I've had enough whining the last couple of months." 

The Senator and the centurions looked at Logan for a second as a snap and a snarl from one of the gigantic dogs quieted her. 

"If you have no further need of us, Honored Senator," Centurion Claudius began producing a pair of handcuffs from his belt, "we'll take these people off your hands." 

The two centurions went to take Rembrandt and Logan into custody when the two dogs suddenly turned on them, growling and barking. Claudius and Bernardo stopped and gave the Senator a questioning look. 

The Senator, for his part, offered only a smug superior look and a smirk. After a second, he made kissing noises with his mouth, calling the two Dobermans to his side. "Never underestimate the power of a well-trained animal," he said. 

"I certainly won't again," Logan replied as Claudius snapped the handcuffs on her. 

The two centurions led the sliders out the gate. "Again, we apologize for the disturbance, Honored Senator Bush, and good luck in the recount." 

Senator Giorgio Bush II nodded to them and sent them on their way. He put a loving hand on the head of one of his dogs and then gave a glance to the hulking figure looming in his second story window. "Luck, my dear underling, is something I definitely don't need." 

----- 

When the Centurion Patrol car sped away, the other sliders came out of hiding and watched them go. "Wonderful," Arturo spouted. "We're on this world for ten bloody minutes and already two of us are in custody. What, are we goingfor some kind of record or something!?" 

"That and we have no idea where they're taking them," Wade said, crossing her arms. 

Maggie shrugged. "Why don't we just call a cab and ask them to take us to the nearest…" 

"Unless you have Roman drachmas in your possession that we can use as currency," Arturo rudely interrupted her, "I doubt a taxi driver would allow us a ride based on our charm alone." 

"Well, definitely not yours," Maggie countered. Already she was frustrated with the bickering. "Fine, we knock on a door, ask for directions, and we walk." She threw Arturo a half teasing/half vindictive gaze. "Try to keep up, Professor." 

----- 

Rembrandt paced the floor of the cell in which he and Logan had been placed. He couldn't begin to fathom the police… or, in this case, the centurions' behavior around him. 

Since his very first slide, he'd had run-ins with the laws of various worlds. Truth be told, he'd had a few scrapes with Earth Prime authorities on occasion as a youth. Despite the differences in each dimension, whether he'd been caught by American KGB, a Californian Nazi Death Squad, or the Lottery Police, one similarity always shone through… the police, enforcers, judges, or whatever were always dispassionate and distant to their prisoners. 

Here, they were downright friendly to him. Not friendly to the point of passing him a cake with a file in it, unfortunately, but almost every centurion that passed by his cell offered him a hello or a friendly smile. Instead of making them feel at ease, it only made both of them more apprehensive. It was downright eerie. 

"It's like we're being held prisoner by a bunch of Wal-Mart greeters," Rembrandt remarked. 

Logan nodded. "You're certainly the popular one." 

"Me?" Rembrandt asked turning around. 

"Yeah, you," she said. "Don't tell me you haven't been noticing all the attention directed at you. I bet you dinner and a movie that you're some kind of a celebrity here." 

Rembrandt thought about that. Sure, it was possible that he was famous here as he had been on other worlds, but did Romans really have an ear for R&B? He secretly hoped deep down that this wasn't another world where he was in a rock or country group… but, then again, he couldn't see Romans liking that kind of music either. Come to think of it, other than the occasional tootings of a pan flute and the strumming of a harp, Rembrandt didn't have the slightest idea what Romans listened to. 

"What kind of music do you think these guys like?" he asked Logan. 

Logan thought about that. "With those skirts, they look like they'd be partial to *NSync." 

Rembrandt was about to agree when, out of the blue, Professor Arturo entered. "There you are!" he said as a uniformed centurion opened the cell door for him. The professor entered the confines of the prison and Rembrandt and Logan made a note that Arturo was dressed in a toga, obviously trying to blend it with the natives. 

"Nice clothes there, Max," Rembrandt remarked with a smirk. 

Arturo looked annoyed. "Thank you. I got them today in a K-Mart bargain bin, Rembrandt." 

The centurion looked at Arturo and motioned to Rembrandt. "So you DO know this man?" 

"Of course I know this man! Do you think I'd just burst in here and start up a conversation with a complete stranger?" 

"I don't know you well enough to say, sir." The centurion seemed satisfied. "All right, I'll finish the paperwork and release him into your custody." 

"You do that," Arturo snapped. 

After the guard left, Rembrandt broke out into a grin. "I thought you'd never find us!" 

"YOU thought I'D never find you?" Arturo huffed. "You have no idea what I've been through in the last few hours. I've searched every centurion station this side of the city!" 

"And I guess the others are searching elsewhere?" Remmy asked. 

"Others?" Arturo replied to him. "No, no others… We can't let this leak out to the press or they'll have a field day with it. Your only chance is to come out of retirement and accept the invitation to the Hollywood Bowl." 

Logan and Rembrandt looked at each other. "Professor Arturo?" Logan asked. 

"Yes, Professor Arturo!" he said. "Who the devil are you? Do I know you?" 

Rembrandt felt his heart skip a beat. How stupid could he have been to mistake a counterpart for his professor? It had been years since he'd done that. He had to make up his mistake fast. 

"What… uh, what invitation?" 

"What invitation?" Arturo echoed. "The invitation to the Hollywood Bowl, my boy! The invitation from Senator Albertirous Gore himself!" 

Rembrandt recognized the name. For a while, they'd gone through worlds where Albertirous — or rather, Al or Bert or Albert Gore— was anything from Speaker of the House to Vice President to President of the United States. On one world, he was the Prime Minster of England and on another, he was the pope. Obviously, he was somewhat important. 

"I've got a personal invitation to The Hollywood Bowl," a twinkle appeared in Rembrandt's eye, "by a Senator?" 

"He asked for you, personally, and if all goes well, he'll be the next emperor and you KNOW what will happen then, don't you? Fame, riches, and everything your heart desires! Besides, after your recent incarceration and my getting you out, you're really in no position to refuse now, are you?" Arturo explained with what almost appeared to be a grin. 

"I guess not, but I have one condition," Rembrandt said. 

Arturo's face drooped. "You're hardly in a position to make demands, either, Rembrandt." 

"Alright, you got me there," Rembrandt smiled. "Consider it a request then. I'll come with you, if you get my friend out of here too." 

Arturo looked at Logan and seemed to size her up… either that, or he was undressing her with his eyes. He looked back at Remmy and, in a gruff tone, he said, "You're just lucky you've made me a wealthy man, Brown." 

A new centurion entered. "Maximus Arturo?" 

"Yes? What is it now?" 

"Rembrandt Brown, number eye-eye-eye dash eye-vee dash eye-vee dash eye-ex dash eye-eye-eye dash eye-eye dash eye, has been officially released to you." 

"I want the woman released as well." 

The guard looked at Logan and then back at Maximus. "There will be an additional one thousand drachma fee, sir." 

"You know I can afford it," Maximus replied. He then looked Rembrandt in the eye and, with a voice that made the crying man almost shiver, said, "You owe me a hell of a good show now." 

Rembrandt couldn't stop the smile. "You'll get one, man." 

----- 

Rembrandt and Logan followed Arturo out the front door of the centurion station. They'd been given robes a lot like Maximus', but theirs were a dingy gray color and, for the first time, they noticed that there were several people in gray robes following people in white. 

"Are you out of your MIND?" Logan asked, feeling uncomfortable wearing bed sheets. "We don't know this guy!" 

"He knew me enough to bail both of us out and it cost him a thousand Draculas, remember?" Rembrandt replied. "Besides, at least we're out of that place and in the open where Wade and the others can find us." 

"We've got four days for them to find us," Logan said, glancing down at her implanted timer which she had hidden under a fake bandage. "We should have stayed put, but NO… you have to indulge this celebrity complex of yours." 

"Exactly," Rembrandt said. "I indulge a little celebrity complex, everyone knows where I'm at and that'll include a small group of friends of ours." 

They followed Arturo to a car waiting on the curb. The vehicle was extravagant, but not a model that either of them recognized. It seemed like a hybrid of a red Rolls Royce and a horse drawn carriage, minus the horse of course. The car was covered with enough gold accents to make Rembrandt whistle out loud. 

Logan didn't seem too impressed as she continued arguing. "Of course, they could have easily found us if they were searching police stations!" 

"Maybe, but this way I get to have a little fun," Remmy smiled. 

"We're going to regret it," Logan cautioned him. 

Rembrandt scoffed as he got inside the car. "Oh, let me play." 

"Buckle up," Maximus told them, taking the car out of drive. "There are all sorts of lunatics on the streets and I don't want to see my most precious commodity damaged." 

"Yeah, it's a pretty sweet ride," Rembrandt said, grinning. 

Arturo looked at him and returned the grin. "Yes, I must admit I've grown quite fond of her." 

It was then that he almost ran right into a checkered cab. 

----- 

Pavel Kurlienko honked his horn madly and made one inappropriate gesture after another that neither Maggie, Arturo, nor Wade had ever seen before. He shouted several profanities at the fat idiot driving the red car with gold accents as the offending automobile drove away. 

"Well, at least we know some things are constant," Arturo remarked. "Road rage and blistering idiots in expensive automobiles who never watch where they're bloody going." 

Pavel the cab driver parked in the very spot that the moron in the red car had vacated and smiled broadly at the passengers. "This is as far as I can take you, my friends. I have a fare waiting for me at the 'W.'" 

Maggie leaned over the seat and kissed him on the check. She said something to him in Russian. 

"Not to worry," Pavel said, grinning, obviously taken a bit by her beauty and her ability to fluently speak his native tongue. "I have a brother too. Always gets in trouble… very sad. Besides, as long as you walked, I was happy to give you a ride. May the great Jupiter smile upon you, my dear." 

Pavel drove off, leaving the sliders on the steps of the centurion station. "He seemed nice," Maggie remarked as if she had accomplished nothing particularly amazing. 

"You never told us you spoke Russian," Wade said as they began to walk up the steps, trying not to sound impressed. Truth was, she was… She was damn impressed. After walking for hours and only checking two centurion stations, Maggie had flagged down a taxi and, within the space of ten minutes, managed to woo the driver into giving them a free ride. It was as if she took one look at the man and instantly knew how to get inside his head. 

Maggie brushed an errant strand of hair out of her face. "You never told me you weren't a natural red-head when we first met." She looked at Wade with a sly smirk. "I learned Russian when I was in decoding back in the academy during World War Seven. We were at war with them, after all." 

"So, exactly how many languages do you speak?" Arturo asked. 

Maggie thought about it. "Seven… Six really, since there isn't that much difference betweenregular Spanish and Castilian." 

Wade huffed. "You never told me you weren't a natural blonde when we first met, either." 

At that, Maggie scowled. Unlike Wade who'd gradually reverted back to brunette, she'd kept her artificial color. She should have guessed that would be the one secret Quinn didn't take to the grave with him. 

Arturo pushed the door open and, as any proper gentlemen would do, he allowed Maggie and Wade to enter first. A passing centurion noticed them enter and looked confused. 

"Professor Arturo?" the guard said. "Did you forget something?" 

The sliders looked at each other, all with the same word on their minds: Counterpart. 

"Er, no," Arturo began. "I… I was just under the impression that there was… some, uh… unfinished business I had to deal with." 

The guard walked over and took a file off the front desk. He pressed his lips together and shook his head. "No," he answered, "everything seems in order. I know you said to give you a heads up in case of an incident like this. I just hope you were able to head off any negative PR. Good luck, sir." Then, apparently unwilling to give any more information, he placed the folder back down on the desk. 

"Max!" Maggie suddenly yelled. Wade and Arturo jumped at her shrill outburst. "You tell me what you were doing in this police station right now, or so help me I'm never going to talk to you again!" 

Arturo was temporarily disoriented. "W-What?" 

"You were bailing out that loser friend of yours, weren't you? What's his name… Rickman or something!" Maggie continued to yell. "Don't you lie to me!" 

The professor stammered, "I…" 

"No, I don't want to hear it from you!" she snapped, cutting him off. Pointing at the centurion, she continued. "You! Tell me what this two-timing, low-life was doing here and give me EVERY detail!" 

----- 

Five minutes later, Maggie and the professor walked arm in arm out the front door. Wade followed them in absolute awe of the spectacle she'd just seen. 

"I think we'd better see if this 'Maximus Arturo' is listed in the phone book," Maggie said, disentangling her arm from the professor's. "You two see about finding someplace we can stay. We'll meet back here in one hour." 

With that, she made a beeline to a pay phone and began searching the phone book. "I'll say this for her," Arturo began, "she's resourceful." 

"And smug," Wade looked at him. "But I'm just glad she's on our side." 

----- 

Rembrandt almost felt the need to hold his nose as he entered what he assumed to be the living room of the Maximus Arturo household. He wasn't even sure if the filthy floor was hardwood, carpeted, or even if the house had a dirt floor. 

"It's…" Rembrandt said, looking for the right words. "It's nice." 

"It's a shithole," Logan immediately added. 

"You've no argument from me, my dear," Arturo said, accidentally knocking over a pile of refuse causing a small plume of dust to waft into the air. Dirt fuzzies danced in the sunlight filtering in from a broken window. "Mister Brown has never been one for cleanliness and his absence has, strangely, only compounded the filth in here. For a while, I thought of just burning this place down and being done with it, but now I suppose it's a good thing I didn't, eh?" 

"Just what I was thinking," Rembrandt said, wrinkling his nose. 

Logan cleared her throat. "But, I thought this was… your house, Professor." 

"Heavens no, child! This 'shithole' as you so eloquently put it is the former and present home of Rembrandt during his stay with me. And please, call me Maximus. The title is just a phony baloney honorary doctorate given to me by R.I.T." 

The rinky-dink little shack that Maximus had shown them was a heap, all right. The exterior of the small hovel was in need of a paint job and the interior was in need of a mop, a broom, a troop of maids, and a flame-thrower. It looked like the place hadn't been lived in for years, and the person – or bear – who had lived there didn't know the meaning of the word "clean." It also smelled vaguely like a dead animal. 

"This is my place," Rembrandt said, stating a rather sad fact and hoping that Maximus would say 'No, I'm just kidding!' 

"Yes, I know it's been a while since you, and any other living creature with a lick of sense, have lived here. I'm sure you'll manage, though. You always seemed to." 

"Uh, it's a one room hut," Logan said. "Where am I supposed to sleep?" 

"You remember that large mansion we passed on the road up here?" Maximus replied. "That is my home. You'll be staying there until I get appropriate quarters for you." 

Logan pointed almost wearily in the direction of the mansion. She remembered it well—a large stone structure with a red tile roof and enormous stone pillars, it was complimented by a large ornate gate and greenery. A large fountain stood in the middle of the circular driveway and, she noted, several horses pranced around the large fields surrounding the home. The fields, as she recalled, were full of grape vines and workers tending them. "That… that place is yours? That must have set you back a million Draculas." 

Maximus tilted his head a little, unsure if Logan had just cracked a joke. "Quite. Well, if you will excuse me, I find myself growing tired and must retire for the evening." He offered a hand to Logan. "My dear, if your would like, I could save you the walk and take you to the mansion in my car." 

Rembrandt grabbed her by the arm and dragged her to the far corner of the room, throwing Maximus a friendly nod and smile. "Excuse us for a minute." 

"Rembrandt, what's wrong?" she said as they got out of earshot. 

"Plenty's wrong," he replied. "When a man takes a woman home he's only just met, he's only after one thing!" 

"Rembrandt!" Logan said sarcastically. "You're worried about my chastity? I'm touched!" 

"I know you've been touched more times than I care to count, so you know what I'm talking about!" He gave Maximus a sideways glance to make sure they weren't being listened to. 

Logan huffed. "C'mon, Remmy! He's a professor counterpart, and if you've met one, you've met them all! They're all pompous, all egotistical, and all very easy to manipulate – another area I have expertise in if you remember." 

"How could I? You never let any of us forget." 

"Maximus is taking me to his mansion because in addition to being pompous, egotistical, and easily manipulated, he's disgustingly chivalrous. It's a throwback to the days before suffrage, but it's nice for a girl to be showered with it every now and then. Obviously, he doesn't want me – the delicate flower – to have to stay in this… this…" 

"Shithole?" 

"Yes, shithole. You trusted him, therefore, I trust him." 

"Not all Arturo's are the same, girl," Rembrandt told her, even though he knew his reasoning was in vain. 

"Rembrandt, whether it's Maximillion, Max, Maxine, or Maxiumus Arturo… they are ALL the same." 

"Uh-huh," Rembrandt replied, giving Maximus – who looked more and more impatient with each passing second – another quick look. "Alright, you want to trust him, that's fine… but I have the feeling that he's gonna want to pollinate the little delicate flower before the night's out." 

"I'll watch for his little stinger," she smiled. Logan walked over to Maximus and took his arm just to back Rembrandt off. "Sorry for the delay, Maximus. I would LOVE to see that mansion of yours." 

Maximus smiled, patted her arm, and walked out. He gave Rembrandt a small wink. "I'll see you in the morning, Rembrandt, for practice." 

And, with that, Maximus and Logan walked out of the room arm in arm while Rembrandt stayed behind in the rickety old shack, unsure which one to feel sorry for. 

----- 

At the mansion, Logan was quite impressed with the décor. Not that it was beautiful or functional; it was just… not like the professor at all. In fact, the mansion would have been better suited for a Hugh Hefner than a Maximillian Arturo. 

In the large foyer area stood a large marble water fountain that was made up of sculpted nude women pouring water from vases above their heads. Elsewhere, nudes hung from every exposed wall. Logan began to wonder if the mansion should carry an MPAA warning on the front door. 

Gold accents highlighted the dark cherry banisters on the second level and the railings on the elaborate staircase. The supporting columns inside the house were covered with red velvet and the floor was a cold solid marble. Logan immediately thought of how the stone floor would feel to her bare feet and had to resist the urge to kick her shoes off. 

"It's… nice," she finally said. 

"Most people seem to think it's a bit much, but I'm a great admirer of the human form," he said, indicating the nudes. "There's nothing more perfect in heaven or on earth." 

A look crossed his face that she instantly recognized… it was a lecherous look of one who expected a little somethin'-somethin'. She turned away under the guise of looking at a different painting, but Logan could still feel his eyes all over her. 

"W-Well," she said, quickly turning back around after a moment or two of uncomfortable silence, "I think I'll be going to bed." 

"Oh, it's still early yet," Maximus said, stepping in front of her. It wasn't an aggressive move by any means; rather Logan was taken by just how smooth it was. "Perhaps I can get you a drink." 

Logan silently cursed Rembrandt for yet again being right and smiled politely. "I wouldn't want to trouble you," she replied. 

"It's no trouble, my dear," he said, making his way to the bar and pouring a couple of drinks. He handed her a glass. "Arturo's Finest, vintage MCMLXXXIX," he said proudly. "From my own vineyard." 

"Oh, you make your own wine?" Logan said, smiling casually while trying desperately to change the course of the conversation. "I saw the grape vines field things outside, but I… you know, didn't know if you… you know." 

"Of course I make my own wine, Logan. You know, wine is and always will be the only stable business in the empire. That and the tournaments, of course, but why talk about politics now?" 

He stepped closer to her and for the first time, Logan noticed his breath was somewhat foul and that he had a super abundance of nose hair. In fact, it almost looked like his beard was just a flowing outgrowth of hair from his nose. Her Arturo was a lot more tolerable. "Now," he continued, "you've heard so much about me… I think I would very much like to get to know you a little better." 

"Oh, Maximus," she said, putting her hands up to his face and giving his fat cheeks a little pinch, "not if you were the last Roman on this miserable messed-up Earth." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"Forget it, Maximus," she said again. "There will be no rumpy pumpy tonight. I don't care if you got us out of jail, I don't care if you do own a huge mansion and vineyard, and you've got tons of money. I'm not that easy… to impress, that is." 

"Rumpy puh…?" Maximus seemed confused. "Uh… My dear, what exactly do you think I bought you for?" 

Logan looked confused. "Excuse me?" 

"What exactly do you think I bought you for?" he said again. "I mean, you're obviously not one for hard labor… at least not outside labor," he added with a wicked grin. 

"You mean to tell me you think I'm a prostitute?" 

"Oh, no! No! No! No!" Arturo stammered. 

"Good." 

"Since I bought you, you are my concubine," he explained. "A mistress if you will. That's a lot better than just being an average everyday whore. No offense if that was your former profession, of course. I try not to judge." 

Logan just stared at him. If he was being a sleaze ball, he didn't seem aware of it. In fact, he seemed just as confused as she was. 

"What do you mean you bought me?" 

"Well, let me think of a better way to put this," he said, scratching his chin. "Usually, one exchanges money for goods and services; the money being mine and the goods and services being you." 

Logan was dumbfounded. "You mean… I am your property? I'm your… Rembrandt and I are your… slaves?" 

"Slave is such an ugly word, my dear," Maximus said softly, "I much prefer to refer to you and yours as indentured servants for life." He gave her a look of mild amusement. "Logan, what exactly do you think I paid your jailers for?" 

"Gee, let me think… uh, BAIL!?" 

"Bail for a commoner caught trespassing on a noted Senator's property? Honey, what planet did you come from?" 

"I won't dignify that with a response," she said darkly. "You… are… a… slaver," she said again as each word rolled off her tongue like an obscenity. 

"Logan, it's not as bad as you make it out to be," he said. "My… servants are like friends and family to me. I feed and care for them and they never have to worry about shelter… unlike the thousands of people just like them who die on the streets." 

Logan ignored the irony and went for the manipulative approach, hoping that Maximus had a bit of the old Arturo chivalry in him. "Oh my gosh, I'm so embarrassed." She blinked her eyes a few times and whipped up some tears. "I… I had no idea. I…" She put her head in her hands and started bawling. "I'm sorry!" 

Maximus fell for it hook, line, and sinker. "There, there," he said, patting her on the shoulders. "I suppose I should have realized you were an illegal immigrant and weren't aware of…" He trailed of. "So, where are you from?" 

"Canada," Logan answered quickly. 

Maximus grunted. "Oh. That figures." 

Although she seemed to accept her fate and her position, Logan seethed even as Maximus gently picked her up and led her to her room without another sexual advance. Logan hated the man. She hated the practices he'd gladly accepted. As he kissed her gently on the forehead and wished her good night, Logan plotted against him. 

She thought of just killing him. Of bashing his head in with one of the many marble busts that seemed to be blankly staring from every corner or just smothering the vile man with a pillow. But no… No, that would complicate matters, endanger the slide, put herself in jeopardy, and – most important – it would mean that she would have to listen to yet another one of Wade's high and mighty morals speeches. 

She plopped down on the comfortable bed with a beautiful black mink bedspread, feeling a tad sorry for Rembrandt who had to sleep in the shack outside. 

Her fingers found a television remote, so she clicked on the set to see what more she could learn about this new Roman culture… and, perhaps, a way to really hurt Maximus. Immediately, she found an infomercial on something called the Rome Shopping Network. 

A short man with a bad Australian accent was on center stage in front of a live audience as a taller man in glasses looked on. Both were wearing togas. 

"How much would you pay for this unbelievable bargain? Once again, you get three full tubes of Toga White, the cleaner that'll take anything from blood stains to those annoying wine stains out of your favorite clothing! As an added bonus, you also get a travel-sized tube, perfect for any make or model of chariot! Well, would you believe me when I say we're going to let ALL of this go for the low, low price of only forty drachmas! 

The audience began to boo and hiss. 

"Fine," the short faux-Australian huffed. "What if I throw in the miracle buff to restore your sandals to new condition ALL for JUST 30 drachmas?" 

The audience booed even louder. Someone threw a tomato at him just as Logan changed the channel. 

Next, she found an all news channel call RNN. There, two news anchors – one male, one female – sat at a desk in togas delivering the news in front of a backdrop of columns and the ancient Roman Coliseum. The male reporter was just finishing a news story. 

"…the contamination was immediately detected before any shipment went out. Senior officials at the Ross J. Kelly Vineyards could not be reached for comment. Although this has been the third area vineyard affected, the FDA assures Roman News Network that there is no cause for alarm." 

"In other news, it looks like the years of squabbling over who will be the next emperor of Rome may finally be coming to an end as Rome Today reported from an unconfirmed source that the two parties, Senator Bush II and Senator Gore may have reached a compromise. As you know, it was almost a year ago when Emperor Caesar Clinton was attacked and assassinated by his own Senators, which at the time… included Senators Gore and Bush II." 

The picture switched to an archival shot of an overweight man in a toga and golden laurels – obviously the old emperor - addressing a crowd. Several other political types – senators, she presumed – stood behind him. Suddenly, the senators attacked the Emperor, stabbing him repeatedly with knives until he fell to the ground. 

"Et tu, Greenspan?" the Emperor said as he lay on the ground. 

The newsman continued, "Succession by assassination has been a long-standing tradition when faced with a corrupt or otherwise weak emperor and all men were absolved of any crime." 

The lady reporter piped in next. "In other news, sports giant Ornathol Simpson was acquitted of murder charges in the death of his concubine two years ago during the Douglas/Spinks bout." 

The picture changed to one of a sports camera zooming in on a large man in a white toga and a woman in a gray toga having an argument in the stands of a coliseum. Tigers could be seen on the field below them. The man slapped the woman and then pushed her over the edge and onto the playing surface where there was a horrible scream as the tigers came upon her. 

The picture switched back to the newsroom. "Simpson's defense council made the case that his concubine was his property and, therefore, his to do with as he pleased." 

The picture switched to a defense attorney in a toga addressing the courtroom. "The killing of concubines and slaves by their masters has been going on for thousands of years in the empire. Is it right? No. Is it legal? Yes! If the property contract is legit, you must acquit!" 

Back to the newsroom. 

"The ASPCS&C has vowed to appeal and, as a result of the dismissal, the Roman Gaming Commission has placed a lifetime ban on Mister Simpson." 

Logan switched off the television and smiled. Finally, she knew just how to destroy Maximus Arturo. 

It wasn't long before she found a phone attached to a fax machine that had a layer of dust on it from a long period of disuse. At first she thought that the line may not be working, but she breathed a sigh of relief when the sound of a dial tone came across. 

She dialed IV-I-I and asked for the numbers for every Chandler, Chancellor, and Motel 12 in the area (which she quickly learned was called the Motel XII). She then called every one of those lodgings with the same message. 

"This is Logan. Rembrandt is with me. This is the number to reach us at…" 

----- 

The following morning, Rembrandt was more than a little surprised when he first opened his eyes to see Maximus standing over him in a backwards baseball cap and white sweats. 

"GOOD MORNING!" Maximus shouted at the top of his lungs, causing Rembrandt to jump in fright and fall off the side of the bed. 

He hit the ground with a yelp. "What the hell…?" 

"It's time to get you back in shape, Mister Brown," Maximus announced proudly. "Shake the lead out, my boy, it's almost sun-up!" With that, he threw Rembrandt a pair of gray sweats. 

"ALMOST sun-up?" Rembrandt looked out the window and was surprised to see that it was still dark outside. "What time is it?" 

"Time for you to move your worthless lethargic ass, my boy! Move!" And, with that, Rembrandt was showered with the most frigid ice water that had ever come in contact with his skin. He let out a falsetto scream as he leaped to his feet and shivered against the cold. 

"You damned fool!" Rembrandt shrieked. "What are you tryin' to do!?" 

"Wake you up, you piece of lazy riffraff!" Maximus said, tossing the empty water bucket to the side. "Now get dressed and let's get to work! We've a lot of practice to go through before your performance in a few days." 

After Maximus allowed him a bit of privacy, Rembrandt took a nice hot shower and then joined him outside. Maximus was checking his watch when Remmy walked out the front door of the shack and shielded his eyes against the first rays of the morning sun. 

"Are you ready to work?" Maximus said with a grin. 

"Yeah, I guess so," Rembrandt said, yawning the entire sentence. "But I mean, come on… I can still go with the best of 'em, if you know what I mean. I mean, I haven't been performing on a regular basis, but I'm still the best there is." 

"Trying to get out of practice, eh?" Maximus said, folding his arms in front of himself. "Alright then, show me what you've got." 

"Okay," Rembrandt nodded. He cleared his throat and sang a scale to warm up. "I've got tears in my fro, cause I'm standing on my head over yoooooou. And I… I've got a loooong way to go… Will this cryin' stop, I wish I kneeeew." 

"Very funny, Rembrandt," Maximus interrupted. 

Remmy was taken aback. "I… I know I hit a couple of sour notes, but I don't usually sing a cappella AND it's too early! I…" 

Arturo reached into his duffle bag and threw a sword and a shield down in front of Rembrandt. "Quit clowning around," he growled. 

Rembrandt picked up the weapons and was a little surprised at how light they were. "What's this for?" he asked. 

"The long pointy thing is for taking off your opponent's head and the round flat thing is to prevent your opponent from doing the same to you." 

Rembrandt looked at the sword and shield and shook his head in disbelief. Even as he was saying the words, he knew how dumb they sounded. 

"You mean I'm supposed to use these on stage or something?" 

Maximus slapped him on top of the head. "I said stop clowning around. It's unbecoming of a gladiator." 

"Gladiator?" Rembrandt's voice squeaked out. 

----- 

"Gladiator!?" Logan whispered to herself as she walked into Maximus' trophy room. There, on the walls, were dozens of trophies and certificates all bearing the name "Rembrandt Brown" on the plaques. 

"Oh, this just keeps getting better and better," she mumbled to herself. 

There were Sports Illustrated covers in frames that had Rembrandt's picture with him in armor holding a sword in one hand and a shield in the other. There was an advertisement that proudly proclaimed Rembrandt Brown gets that extra boost from PowerAde! 

She chuckled as she came across a framed photo spread that had Rembrandt in the nude, using only a shield to cover his shame. Logan was then taken by just how built Rembrandt's alternate was. He looked like a professional boxer while her Rembrandt looked more like a professional doughboy. 

It was slowly beginning to dawn on her as she blew dust off a Gray's Sports Almanac with Rembrandt's picture on it what was really going on. 

----- 

"You mean to tell me he's like the Ben Hur, Russell Crowe type Gladiator?" Wade gasped in amazement as a great purple splattering squished between her toes. The only job they'd been able to find over the last few days was at the Elston Diggs Vineyard where they made their spirits the old fashioned way… by getting people to stomp on grapes. It wasn't the cleanest way of making wine, but the locals insisted that it was the best. 

Arturo wasn't in the vat at the moment, but his bare feet were still stained a deep purple by the day's endeavors. "Actually, Russell Crowe was decapitated in a match a year ago. Rembrandt, or rather the Rembrandt of this dimension, was a champion gladiator who earned his freedom from his master – Maximus Arturo – by simply being the best at what he did. Obviously, my counterpart has reclaimed his property. It was a good thing Logan thought to give us a message when we finally found proper lodging." 

It was a nice, sunny day in the vineyard. Other commoners who were busy stomping manned a few dozen other vats of squishy grapes. 

"Well," Maggie said, breathing heavily. "It's almost impossible to get to this Maximus guy," she explained. "I got an appointment to see him, but the bad news is, it's about three months after we slide." She brushed four rope-thick strands of purple hair out of her face. She'd fallen into the vat six times in the last hour, obviously unable to obtain what Mr. Diggs called 'her grape legs.' "There's no way to get to Logan or Rembrandt through official channels." She picked up an unsmushed grape out of the vat and ate it. 

"You keep pilfering grapes, my dear, and you're going to end up getting us fired and we can't afford that as this time," Arturo warned her. 

"It's only been three or four," Maggie said defensively. 

"Yeah," Wade huffed, "if you were counting by the dozen." 

Maggie uttered what Wade assumed was a Russian curse and resumed her stomping. 

"Why Rembrandt, of all people? I mean, I can understand that his counterpart is supposed to be this big bad gladiator, but he was supposed to have been freed after his ten year service to Maximus," Wade quizzed him. "Why bring him out of retirement?" 

"The root of all evil, Miss Wells," Arturo explained. 

"Money?" 

"Politics," he said. "About a year ago, the emperor of the Roman Empire, Julius Clinton, was assassinated by his cabinet. There was an issue of who should succeed him and now it's down to two contenders: Georgio Bush II and Albertirous Gore. Apparently, the successor will be decided by the winner of the match." 

Maggie let out a short yelp as she fell face first into the grape vat. When she got back up, pulverized purple grapes hung on her face and in her hair… all stained a light blue from the juices. 

Wade and Arturo stared at her for a moment, but then redirected their attention back to their conversation. 

"When's the match?" Wade asked. 

"Tomorrow," Arturo replied. "They just said that Maximus Arturo has been training Rembrandt non-stop for the last three days in preparation for the match." 

"Insanity," Maggie mumbled as she continued to smash grapes with her feet while picking other grapes out of her hair. 

Wade nodded in agreement. "It'd be like Tyson and Foreman deciding who the president is!" 

"Tyson was gutted in a match in '94," Arturo said "and Foreman was…" 

"Never mind," Wade said, getting out of the grape vat. Purple fluid dripped off of her legs. "We've got to get Rembrandt out of there." 

"Don't worry about it, Wade," Maggie said reassuringly. "We've got a plan in action already." She then put her hand on her stomach and wondered why she suddenly felt nauseous before slipping backwards into the sticky grape paste again with a gigantic splat. 

----- 

Rembrandt fell to the ground, panting heavily, the cool evening air burning his lungs. For three days he had been training for a fight to the death with another gladiator at the Hollywood Bowl, and he was about to pass out. 

Maximus Arturo slammed on the brakes of his golf cart and narrowly avoided running Rembrandt over. "What in the HELL are you doing, taking a NAP?" 

"Oh, Maxy… Go easy on him," Logan said playfully from the passenger seat. Rembrandt had noticed over the last couple of days that her personal wardrobe had gotten significantly bigger and more alluring. It seemed Maximus was showering her with gifts on an almost hourly basis… As for why, Rembrandt tried not to think of it. 

"Man, you've had me running for ten hours straight! I am NOT a machine!" 

Maximus jumped off the cart and bent down over him until they were face to face. "Yes you are, Rembrandt! You are a KILLING machine and I will be DAMNED by Pluto himself if you lose this match!" 

Rembrandt stood up on shaky legs. More than a few times, he'd thought about escaping, but lord knows what kind of man this Maximus truly was. For all Rembrandt knew, he could be dangerous… sending legions of centurions after him. What would he do to Logan? God only knew… Although, with each additional dress and each additional trinket that appeared on her, Rembrandt found himself caring less and less about her extracurricular activities. 

Logan put an arm around Maximus' chest in a seductive manner. "Oh, Maxy… Let him have a breather for just five minutes." He started to protest when she silenced him with a finger to his lips. "Just five minutes? For meeeeee?" she asked again, tousling his beard with her fingers. 

He mulled it over, making barely audible grunts. "Very well," he said. "Five minutes and not one second more!" He stomped back to the cart, which was outfitted with air conditioning, and sat down with his arms folded in front of him like a child pouting. 

"Thanks," Rembrandt wheezed. "You know, we could always make a run for it." 

"To where?" Logan asked him, dropping her act and taking on a deep scowl. "I've seen you run for the last few days and, believe me, catching you would be no problem. Besides, we have no idea where we are and you know that Maximus is a powerful man who probably wouldn't blink at killing you. Hell, as far as he's concerned, he's sending you to your death anyway." 

"Yeah, I know," he said. Once again, he caught sight of Logan's expensive adornments. "But why do I get the feeling you're making excuses to hang around?" 

"I'm making excuses? If it wasn't for you stroking your own ego, we wouldn't be in this mess to begin with!" Logan argued with him. 

Rembrandt had to concede that point. "Alright, I should have looked before I leaped," he said slowly. "But you're in no hurry to help me get out of here, what with you and Maximus'…" he looked for the word, "new found friendship." 

"You mean you think I gots me a sugar daddy?" 

"More or less." 

"For your information, although it's none of your business," she began, "he hasn't laid a finger on me." 

Rembrandt scowled. "Wasn't a finger I was thinking he laid on you." 

Logan looked at him. "Why, Rembrandt, that was positively dirty!" 

"I know," Remmy said. "Looks like I've been hanging around with you way too much." 

"I'm corrupting you," she grinned. "You've joined Darth Logan on the dark side." She sighed. "Don't worry, Rembrandt. I'm not going to let that son-of-a-bitch lay a finger on me and, as much as I hate to admit it, all of this'll work out a lot better if we go with the flow rather than running for it and hiding. From what I've seen on the TV, the cops on this world are methodical and pretty mean customers when they want to be. I mean, there's this one show on FOX called 'Centurions' where a camera crew follows them around on patrol. Man, I haven't seen that much slashing and cutting since the last after Christmas sale I was at. That's probably why we haven't seen or heard from your counterpart. He doesn't want to take any chances." 

"Smart man," he replied. "Nice to see that at least one of us is. How are the others? Have you heard from them again?" 

"The benefit of Maximus having an old fax line he never uses," she said, nodding. "Wade whined a lot about being separated and the professor bitched constantly." 

"Sounds typical," he smiled. "What about Maggie?" 

"That's the weirdest thing," she said, rubbing her chin. "She sounded… I don't know… weirder than usual." 

----- 

Arturo was almost knocked down by Maggie as she entered the motel room, ran towards the restroom, and slammed the door behind her. Her face still carried a purple tinge from the wine vats that shone a little better than it would have under any other circumstances, but the fact that Maggie was as pale as a ghost made her look like an overgrown smurf. 

"What the devil was that all about?" he asked Wade. 

"Oh, you mean you haven't heard?" she said, barely able to keep a straight face. "Two vats of wine from the Elston Diggs Vineyard were contaminated by some sort of parasite." 

"Oh dear," Arturo said as the sounds of Maggie heaving filtered through the bathroom door. "And that's where her nausea came from?" 

Wade rolled her eyes at the stupidity of this question from a man who generally didn't ask stupid questions. "Yeah, it's been going around on this world for the last couple of weeks. Fortunately, Diggs caught it in time before we had to quarantine the entire vineyard. The apothecary did have something to flush the parasites out of Maggie's system, but…" 

"But, what?" 

"But Maggie's had some sort of reaction to it," Wade said, her eyes shifting to the bathroom door. 

"But the parasites?" 

"Well, like I said, they're being…" she cleared her throat, "flushed out of her system… just not in the way we intended." 

"I see," Arturo said softly, not wanting any more details and not bothering to reprimand Wade for her childish behavior. "Did you pick up my prescription?" 

"Oh, you mean for your violent mood swings?" she asked, grinning. 

He sighed. "Yes, those." 

Wade produced a large bottle of brown fluid from a paper sack she brought in with her. "Right here." 

"What the devil is THAT?" he asked. 

"The apothecary called it the Elixir of Broken Slumber," she explained. "You take one teaspoon an hour before you go to bed and it… uh… calms you, I guess." 

"I hope this shall be sufficient but I was hoping that they had medicine in tablet form on this world. I suppose this is made of witch hazel and peat moss or some such garbage, and will probably be barely sufficient!" he sighed again. "Are you sure that Mr. Diggs gave us the delivery job?" 

"I saw our names on the list myself," Wade said proudly, dramatically flipping her hair. "Maggie's not the only one who can use her feminine wiles." 

Maggie moaned from the bathroom. Wade and Arturo gave the door a look and then continued with their conversation. 

"Uh… Is she going to be alright?" Arturo asked. 

Wade nodded. "She's going to be a sick little puppy for about a week, but it was either that or leave those parasites in her body and, I don't know about you, but I would prefer not to repeat our last experience with Maggie and parasites." 

"So I've heard," Arturo grumbled. "But I still don't quite believe a story that half-cocked." He knocked on the bathroom door. "Captain Beckett? Are you alright?" 

There was a pause before an obviously exhausted Maggie replied in a hushed weak voice, "I'm okay." 

"Wade and I are going out for a while, do you need us to bring you back anything?" 

There was another pause. "Jack Kevorkian?" she moaned wearily. 

Arturo rolled his eyes. "We'll see what we can do." He walked to the bed and grabbed his coat. "Are you ready, child?" he asked. 

"Ready," Wade said, putting the elixir in the bag and following him out the door. "Let's go see the kitties." 

----- 

It was the day of the tournament. 

Rembrandt stood in front of the mirror in his shack fully dressed in his gladiator garb and apparel. His armor was pure silver with an etching of a wild stallion across his chest plate. His shield was similarly etched with much the same design; only it was emblazoned with gold as well as silver. The helmet that sat upon his head reminded him of the helmet that a super-villain wore in a comic book he used to enjoy. 

Even with all the armor, the most uncomfortable thing for him was the skirt thing he had to wear. It showed off a large portion of his legs and it made him feel as though he was wearing a dress and the eyes of the world were on him. 

"Nice legs," Logan said from behind him. 

Rembrandt spun around. A bad move because the weight of the armor coupled with the momentum of his whirling around, caused him to lose his footing and stumble. He barely managed to grab the wall before he keeled completely over. 

Logan simply rolled her eyes. "Oh God, I'm looking at a dead man." 

Rembrandt regained his footing and scowled at her. "If you're here for a pep talk, you've gotten off to a real bad start." 

"Actually, Maximus sent me," she said, smiling. 

Remmy noticed that an elaborate diamond choker necklace had appeared on her neck and that only made him madder. "Maximus, huh? Don't you mean yo' suga' daddy!?" 

Logan actually laughed at that. "It's time to go to the Bowl," she said. 

"Great," Rembrandt moaned. "Just great! After a lifetime of waiting and practicing and hoping, I'm finally going to get to play the bowl and… hell…" He sat down and put his head in his hands. "This sucks," he moaned. 

"Don't worry about it," Logan reassured him. "The others will be there as we planned. You're going to be in position and me… well… let's just say I've figured out a very interesting way of getting away from Maximus." 

"I'm going to say this again, girl," Rembrandt warned, shaking a finger at her. "Be careful. We have no idea what this Maximus dude is like!" 

She sighed. "And I told you he's an Arturo and when you've seen one, you've seen them all." 

"Perfect," Rembrandt huffed. "I don't suppose we ever told you about the time that an Arturo kidnapped the first professor, did we?" 

She laughed. "What? You don't think that Max would pull something like that if it wasn't in his best interests?" 

"Of course I don't," Rembrandt immediately replied, sounding more than a little offended. 

Logan smiled again and helped him up to his feet. "Good God, you guys are so naïve it's almost cute!" 

Rembrandt was about to reply when the sound of a car honking shattered the quiet. 

"Come on," Logan said, picking up his sword and handing it to him. "We can't keep Maximus or your public waiting, now, can we?" 

Rembrandt looked at her suspiciously. "You're planning something, aren't you?" 

Logan stopped. "What do you mean I'm planning something?" 

"When you said Maximus' name, I got a glimpse of that look you get when you're planning something foul," he told her. 

"What look?" she asked innocently. 

Rembrandt crossed his arms. "What are you going to do?" 

Logan shrugged. "I don't have a clue what you're…" 

"Can it," Rembrandt demanded. "Spit it out, girl." 

Logan, realizing that there was no point in continuing the charade, decided to come clean with him. "I'm going to destroy him." 

"Logan," Rembrandt said in a scolding tone. 

"Oh get off it, Rembrandt!" she shot back. "The guy is a creep." 

"That's no reason to kill him," he said. "We've had this discussion a million times." 

With a smirk, she shook her head. "No, I'm not going to kill him, stupid," she told him. "But I am going to hurt him and damage his reputation as much as I can." 

"Why? What good would it do us?" 

"Us? Not a damn bit," she said. "But I've been dodging the lecherous advances of that fat sack of crap for three days now. I can't even bend over to pick something up for him without him grabbing a healthy handful of ass and, with those fat fingers, he's ALWAYS dropping something." 

Rembrandt cocked his jaw and shook his head. "Logan and her vendettas." 

"Yeah," she replied sarcastically, "where would I be without them?" 

"Home," Rembrandt said. 

Logan grew silent, but her eyes radiated. "Nice," she finally said with a small cordial smile. "I'm going to make Maximus so mad that he throws me down to the arena. It's happened a few times the last couple of years… owners throwing their concubines to the field to be killed. In this culture, it's a lot like marrying your cousin… it may not be illegal, but it is seriously frowned upon by anyone with good taste. If I time it just right to coincide with the slide, who knows? I may end up… How did Quinn always put it? Changing the world?" 

"Quinn never changed the world by destroying one man out of spite," Rembrandt replied. 

"The guy is a creep," Logan reiterated. "He buys and sells people like trading cards." 

"Look, Logan," Rembrandt suddenly said forcibly, "I am the last person you need to lecture to about the evils of slavery. I despise it just as much as you do, but unlike you… I can't condemn a man because of the thousands of years of culture that he's been raised in all his life! It sounds weak, I know, but he just doesn't know any better." 

Logan rolled her eyes. 

"Never judge a man until you've walked a mile in his shoes. They ever say that on your home world?" Rembrandt asked. 

"Yeah," Logan replied. "That way, when you do judge him, you're a mile away and you're wearing his shoes." 

Rembrandt knew it wasn't any use. When Maximus blared his horn again, he just gave up. "Fine," he said. "You do whatever thing you're going to do. I won't stop you. God knows I'll be busy." 

Logan smiled. "Rembrandt, you do your best to stay alive, now. In two hours, we're all going to be laughing about this." 

Rembrandt shook his head and moaned. Adjusting his helmet, he took a deep breath and tried to summon any inner strength he had left. 

Logan simply giggled. 

"It's not two hours yet," Rembrandt growled. 

----- 

The Hollywood Bowl was nothing like any of the sliders remembered seeing it. Instead of an aesthetically pleasing stage and seating area for concerts, the Hollywood Bowl was more of a mega-sports stadium that seated tens of thousands. 

The fans were already in place, cheering the gladiators that had gone before. Banners that stated such slogans as "Little Anthony's Pizza," "Burger Emperor," and "The West Palace Wing on NBC" fluttered lightly in the breeze, fastened from the upper seating levels. 

Television cameras were mounted along the walls and were all focused on the field with their highly trained cameramen ready to capture every glorious moment of carnage for the viewing public. 

The lower levels appeared to host the upper echelon of Roman society. Senators, celebrities, and other high profile citizens were watching from ground level in cushy box seats. 

Two of them, Senators Georgio Bush II and Albertirous Gore eyed each other in the boxed in VIP section on what would otherwise be called the 50-yard line. Between them, sat an empty throne that would be occupied by one or the other at the end of the match. 

Gore didn't even notice that his guests had arrived until Maximus Arturo and Logan St. Clair were nearly standing over him. 

"Senator Gore!" Maximus said, accepting a gracious hug and kiss on the cheek from the Senator. 

"Ah, Maximus, my old friend," Senator Gore said, smiling and shaking his hand. "You of all people, I owe. I mean, getting Rembrandt Brown out of retirement and into this important match. You will be well rewarded, my friend, when I am emperor." 

"I do this not for rewards," Maximus replied. Logan had to roll her eyes, because she knew it wasn't true. "Never underestimate the power of a true friend." 

From behind them, there was a sarcastic clapping. It was Senator Bush II. 

"Never underestimate the power of a true friend," he said, slurring his words. He was obviously intoxicated. "What a… touching sentiment. I remember I once read that on the back of a Hallmark card." 

"When you care to send the very best, Senator," Maximus said with a slight bow that had not a sliver of respect in it. 

Bush II looked at Logan with a half-cocked eye. "Do I know you, woman?" 

Logan shook her head and shrugged. Yes, they had met in a sense, as Senator Bush II was the man who turned both her and Rembrandt in to the police when they first arrived, but Logan was pretty much sure that he was too toasted to be able to tell the difference. She began to wonder if he wasn't a little blitzed when they first met him. 

He eyed her a little more closely, but then trained his attention back on Gore and Maximus. "Never underestimate the power of a true friend… Nice, but I have one… one better on you. Never underestimate the power of a well-trained animal." He stumbled and fell back into his seat. 

"Dear Senator," Gore said, "whatever do you mean by that?" 

"You'll see," he smirked leaning back in his cushy soft chair, "when MY champion takes the field." 

----- 

A few moments later, the announcer on the loudspeaker introduced Rembrandt onto the field. When Remmy appeared, it almost looked like someone had forcibly pushed him out the entry door. He staggered foreward a couple of steps and stopped, looking at the cheering crowd of thousands upon thousands. Finally, after building a little nerve, he walked to the center of the green Astroturf playing field. 

"Magnificent, isn't he?" Arturo asked Gore. 

"Are those love handles?" Gore asked. 

Maximus went silent for a moment. "Those… are caused by the armor. Nothing to worry about." 

"Nothing to worry about, eh?" Bush II said from his chair a little too loudly. "Well, Maximus… just take a look at MY champion!" 

Over the loudspeaker, the pronouncement came. "And now, competing for Honored Senator Georgio Bush II, the brave and the bold… Dwayne Johnson!" 

"Oh God," Maximus said, rubbing his temples. "Anyone but him!" 

The man known as Dwayne Johnson strode out onto the field and the crowd went wild. He was huge… his dark body looking like it had been chiseled from marble and was probably just as tough. Logan already had at least three sexual fantasies about him before she came to her senses. 

Johnson stood over Rembrandt and it seemed as if he was beating down on him with his eyes only. Remmy felt three feet tall. His opponent was like a rock and he exuded confidence. 

The cheering from the crowd began to die and Johnson took note of it. He looked into the stands and did the strangest of things… he simply raised his left eyebrow. 

Once again, the crowd went wild. 

"Gladiators to your corners!" the loudspeaker ordered. 

It was all Rembrandt could do to keep from running away from the sword-wielding mountain of a man he'd just faced. He found his booth and sat down in his chair in the shade. "This is crazy, this is crazy, this is…" 

"Here, have some wine," his attendant said in a hoarse voice. 

"Thanks, ma'am" he said, taking a huge swallow of the liquid without even turning around. "If I'm going to get hacked to pieces, I want to get as plastered as I can before hand." 

"Don't worry," the attendant said, "I'm a big fan of yours and I have faith in you." 

"No offense," he said, "but you really don't know who I am." 

A hand came down on his shoulder. "No offense, Rembrandt, but you should really be more observant." 

Maggie Beckett, despite looking and sounding like death warmed over, smiled. 

Rembrandt smiled back. "Why are you blue?" 

----- 

"Can you smell what I'm cooking!?" Johnson said to his attendants. 

Wade Wells cleared her throat as the smell of cooking barbeque whiffed through the air. "Smells good," she said. "Do you always have a barbeque on the field during your matches?" 

Johnson was wearing an apron over his armor as he turned his steaks. "Always," he grinned. "It's a good luck charm. Besides, the carbs do a body good." 

He flexed for her. Wade turned around and rolled her eyes while she picked up a bottle. 

"Would you like some wine?" she asked him, turning back around. "Fresh from Elston Diggs Vineyard." 

"What's the vintage?" he asked her. 

Wade looked. "MCMLXXIX." 

Johnson smiled as he took the bottle from her. He kicked back in his chair and downed the entire bottle in less than a minute. "A very good year," he said placing the bottle on the table. "Elston Diggs… you can't beat it." 

Wade stared at him agape. "That was the bitchinest thing I've seen all day!" 

"The day's young, yet," he said with a wicked grin. 

Wade fought the urge to roll her eyes again. 

"Gladiators, to your marks!" the loudspeaker announced. 

"Saved by the bell," he said to her. "I'll see you in a couple of seconds." 

Wade ran to him and grabbed his arm. "Wait!" Without thinking, she jumped up and kissed him full on the lips. "Make him suffer for me," she said. 

"You got it, babe," he said with a toothy smile. He put her down and marched to the center of the arena. 

Professor Arturo came out from hiding behind a wooden parturition. "Make him suffer?" he said in shock. "My dear Miss Wells, just whose side are you on?" 

"Come on, Professor," Wade said. "You saw that guy! His arms are bigger than Remmy's neck! I figure if I could… you know… convince him to drag things out a little, then Rembrandt's got more of a chance!" 

"I retract my previous statement," Arturo said, his attention fixed on the playing grounds. "I must say Rembrandt appears to be facing imminent doom rather heroically." 

----- 

"I'm going to be killed," Rembrandt moaned through his teeth as Gladiator Johnson approached him. The man actually appeared to be getting bigger with each step until he was once again looming over Remmy. 

Johnson smiled. "I just want you to know, I'm a big fan of yours," he whispered. 

"R-Really?" Rembrandt asked. Normally, he loved his fans, but this was one he could live without. Literally. 

"God, you're match in '95 against Lennox Lewis was awesome," he replied. 

"I'm, uh… glad you enjoyed it," Rembrandt stammered. 

"How exactly did you take his head off with that broken sword? I mean one swipe and it popped off like a champagne cork. They were showing it on SportsCenter for a week afterwards." 

Rembrandt suddenly felt faint. "W-Well," he said, "I… I mean… You can't expect me to reveal all my trade secrets before our big match, do you?" 

"I guess not," Johnson replied, seeming a little disappointed. Rembrandt assumed it was because the man felt he was about to kill a treasure trove of useful information. 

The sounds of trumpet fanfare echoed through the Hollywood Bowl. Rembrandt and Johnson turned and faced the VIP box as protocol dictated. 

Senators Bush II and Gore, both of them being the highest-ranking individuals in the stands, stood. Gore graciously motioned to Bush II, meaning that he wished his enemy to start the match. Bush II simply shook his head. 

"I'd hate for you to miss out on your one and only time to actually issue an empirical command," he said with a sarcastic tone. "As we both know the outcome of this farce, perhaps you should take the initiative." 

Gore thought about saying something back to him, but decided to take the high road. He walked up to the microphone and cleared his throat. 

"Combatants!" 

Johnson and Rembrandt stood at attention. "We who are about to die, salute you!" they both said. Actually, it was Johnson who said it… Rembrandt just mumbled it since he had no intention to march heroically to his death. 

"Gladiators," Gore proclaimed, his voice still echoing off the sides of the coliseum. "Fight!" 

And with that, Rembrandt saw his entire life flash before him. He remembered wrecking his mom's car when he took it for a joy ride at the age of eight and the punishment that came afterwards. 

He saw himself graduate high school and go right into naval service, against the wishes of both his parents. 

He remembered how much more they objected to his becoming an entertainer and how it was years later, when he scored his first gold record with the Topps, before his mother spoke to him again. 

It was the first time in years, and would be the last time ever. She died the following week, leaving Rembrandt with the lingering doubt of whether or not she ever truly forgave him. 

He remembered breaking up with the Spinning Topps – probably the second most stupid thing he'd ever done… the stupidest being what he was doing now – and the string of unsuccessful flops that came out afterwards. 

He was a joke. 

And then came a weird swirling blue vortex in the middle of the road that swallowed him and his prized red sled up. He was introduced to Quinn, Wade, and the professor… then later to Maggie, Logan, and Max. 

He regretted nothing since… except what happened to his car. 

For once, all the regret that had plagued him on his home Earth was gone and, for the first time since he began sliding, he realized it. Yes, he missed home and the first professor and Q-ball dearly… but sliding had loosed him of baggage he had been carrying for years. It was indeed an amazing life he'd stumbled into. 

Suddenly, he was filled with rage. This towering rock of a man was about to take this extraordinary life away from him and for what? So some fat-ass, toga-wearing butthole could play emperor? 

No, that was not happening. Dammit, he was a human being and this was NOT happening to him. Rembrandt decided in that moment that he was not going to be a defenseless pawn in an empire he didn't and had no desire to understand. 

Before he knew what he was doing, he charged at Johnson with a high-pitched battle cry that would be remembered in the New Roman Empire for decades afterwards even though no one understood its meaning. No one understood that it was the dying words of a man long gone that Rembrandt had taken to heart and adopted for his own. 

"SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSLIDERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSSSSSSSS!" 

And, with that, he plowed head first into Johnson's stomach, somehow missing the sword that was swung defensively at him. It hurt… bad. Not only did the guy look like a rock, but he felt like one too. 

Rembrandt fell backwards onto the Astroturf, as did his opponent and, for the longest while, Remmy was dazed… unsure what just happened or what was happening, but he had a pretty good idea what was going to happen next. Any minute now, Johnson would come looming overhead and deliver the killing blow. 

But that blow never came… despite the fact that it seemed that Rembrandt laid there for what he felt was days; the rock man never appeared above him, never delivered the blow that would cut the Crying Man's life short. 

Slowly, he became aware that the crowd was no longer cheering. Rather, there was a hushed surprise over the entire Hollywood Bowl. He could hear a few dozen voices whispering in the stands, but couldn't discern what they were saying. 

Finally, he rolled over onto his stomach and forced himself to his hands and knees. His head still spinning from the impact, he stood on two wobbly exposed legs and squinted as the sun shone brightly overhead. 

There, a few feet away from him, Dwayne Johnson was lying on his back snoring happily… a small sliver of drool escaped his lips and trickled to the ground. 

On the sidelines, Wade kicked two empty bottles out of sight. One was an empty Diggs Vineyard Bottle, Vintage 1979. The other was an empty bottle of the apothecary's Elixir of Broken Slumber, most of its contents contained within the sleeping Dwayne Johnson. 

Suddenly, a cheer broke out in the Hollywood Bowl. It started with a rumble until it grew and grew into a deafening roar. Rembrandt, unsure of what else to do... and unsure of just what the hell happened, raised his hand in the air and waved to the crowd which only excited them more. 

Even Logan couldn't contain herself as she planted a huge kiss on Maximus' cheek. She checked the timer and saw that they still had five minutes until the slide. She wondered offhand that, if there indeed was a God, if he enjoyed placing their slide window in the most climactic places. 

Senator Gore stood and took the microphone, throwing a pleased look at his defeated adversary who still seemed too drunk to fully understand that he had just lost the empire. 

"Rembrandt Brown wins!" he announced proudly. "Flawless victory!" 

Another roar escaped the crowd… this one even larger than the first. 

The Senator waited for them to clam down. "Rembrandt Brown, your Emperor salutes you." 

Rembrandt threw the new Emperor a wave. "Thanks," he said. 

"Indeed," Emperor Gore said, smiling faintly. "Now, as to your enemy." 

Rembrandt cringed. He knew that now, he would be required to take Johnson's life. He looked at his fallen adversary who still slumbered on the fake grass and knew instantly that it would betray all his values and morals to do it. He and his enemy had one chance and one chance only. 

"Oh, Emperor," Rembrandt said as loud as he could. He hoped that his voice could be heard over the cheering. "Spare this man, he has fought so bravely for your amusement." 

The crowd grew silent as Gore stepped foreword. He held his hand out level with his thumb sticking out sideways. "Let him…" His thumb went down like Roger Ebert giving a scathing review. "Die." 

The crowd, once again, went wild at the prospect of more violence for their viewing pleasure. The thought of it sickened him. 

From the sidelines, Wade, Maggie, and Arturo waited to see what would happen next. 

In the VIP booth, Logan enacted her evil plan to destroy Maximus' reputation for no good reason. 

"Maximus," she began, "Your breath smells like a dead animal, I hate your nose hairs, and even for a scumbag you're ugly." 

Maximus whirled around. "I-I BEG your pardon?" 

"Oh, and I forgot to tell you, tons-of-fun. I'm pregnant." 

Maximus' head snapped around. "You're WHAT!?" 

"Pregnant, you idiot!" she said again. "What are you, deaf AND stupid?" 

"But, who…? 

She smiled and pointed at Rembrandt. "Him, you lice infested pus bucket!" 

"WHAT!?" 

----- 

Rembrandt picked up his sword and pointed it at Johnson, eliciting yet another furious round of cheers from the audience. But then, never removing his gaze from the new Emperor, he threw the weapon to the side. It stuck into the ground a few feet away. 

"Insolence!" he heard a woman cry from the audience. 

The mood in the Hollywood bowl turned ugly. Rembrandt had hoped that his defiant act of mercy would sway the Emperor's opinion… Instead, it just swayed the opinion of the tens of thousands of people who had paid to see blood. Now, instead of cheering Rembrandt, they were calling for HIS blood instead. 

"This is quickly going southward," Arturo said softly. 

Gore turned around and sat in the until-then vacant throne. "Release the tigers!" he commanded. "Let everyone see what becomes of you when you defy the word of your Emperor!" 

Arturo, Wade, and to some extent, Maggie (who was still very ill, quite blue, and marginally coherent) watched with growing concern as the attendants on the field suddenly ran for the exits. Leaving only them on the sidelines and Rembrandt standing in the middle of the arena with the unconscious Johnson. 

The exit doors slammed shut one and one and, from the far side of the arena, no fewer than fifteen large striped tigers walked onto the field. They looked at the sliders, licked their chops, and began to slowly advance. 

----- 

Maximus stared open mouthed at Logan. Neither one of them had been watching what had been going on since Logan's shocking and, unbeknownst to Maximus, completely fake announcement that she was with child. 

"You mean to tell me that you and Rembrandt…?" he asked. 

"I knew you would be mad, Fatty McBiggass" she said, "but you're such a pathetic old pervert, I thought maybe you would forgive me like the little spineless bitch you really are." Secretly, she was very much enjoying herself. 

"Oh, Logan… child!" He grabbed her and, instead of forcibly throwing her into the ring like she thought he would, he hugged her. "Now I understand!" 

"You do?" Logan asked, her cheek pressed up against his shoulder. 

"That's why you did not wish to sleep with me! You are with child!" He released her and, for the first time, Logan noticed that his eyes welled with tears. 

This wasn't going quite the way Logan envisioned. "You're crying?" 

"Of course I'm crying! You're carrying the child of Rembrandt Brown, the greatest gladiator in all the Empire!" he cried. 

"You're not mad?" 

"Mad?" he asked breathlessly. "I'm ecstatic! I own the mother of Rembrandt Brown's child! That baby is going to assure me championships for the next generation!" 

"B-But, I-I-I think it's a girl!" Logan quickly said, trying to weasel her way out of her own doings. 

Instead, Maximus just shrugged. "Then she will be HUGE in the Amazon League. Logan, this child will want for nothing. He or she will be educated at the finest schools and will be…" 

"BUT I called you a…" 

"Mood swings," he said, "Completely forgivable!" 

Logan started to laugh. "Y-You stupid…" she said chuckling. Then, in a rage, she yelled. "What IS it with you!? You're a slaver who buys people like collectibles! Why the HELL are you so FREAKING nice!?" 

Maximus stared at her. "Because I… care about you. I care about him!" he said pointing out to the field where Rembrandt was. "Like I said, you're not just property to me, Logan. You're my children in a way." 

Logan looked down at her timer. There was still a little time to spare, but she couldn't stand that Maximus wouldn't fit into her narrow definitions of good and evil. Was he an inhuman monster or just a good man who lived in an inhuman world? 

Logan knew she wasn't a good person, but she did what she did for what she considered the greater good and now she was faced with a man that was every bit as much her counterpart as any Quinn Mallory or Logan Saint Clair she'd run into. 

Maximus participated in slavery… a universal evil across countless worlds for what HE considered the greater good. It made him an evil man in her eyes, but not his… in his, he was simply doing what needed to be done. 

And what he did made Logan sick. 

And what he represented made her sick. 

And the fact that he reminded her so much of herself and of all the horrible things she had done over the years in the name of what SHE considered the greater good, made her want to cry aloud. 

Which is exactly what she did. 

Logan screamed at the top of her lungs in fury. The fury of a woman who had only truly looked at herself like a newborn child and, like a child when confronted by something so terrible and overwhelming, she took the only course of action she could. 

She ran. 

Leaping over the railing and away from Maximus and everything that she saw in him reflected onto her, she landed with a light thud on the Astroturf… the fake grass cushioning the impact. 

She sat there for a while as Maximus called for her desperately from above… trying to lead her to safety and then demanding that the centurions on duty do something to save her and, once he'd realized that the Emperor had ordered Rembrandt's death, he began to beg the Emperor to spare him. 

Logan never looked up at him… she just sat there contemplating her epiphany. 

Then, she started laughing at her foolishness. How stupid could she have been allowing herself to be taken in by Rembrandt, Arturo, Maggie, and Wade's happy little world? How pathetic was she? She was nothing like that jerk Maximus! Why didn't she fall backwards and make it look like she had been pushed? That would have worked just as well as anything. But now, Maximus' reputation would remain intact. 

'Stupid,' she thought, 'Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!' 

Then she looked up and found herself staring into the face of a very large and very mean looking tiger. 

"G-Good kitty," she squeaked out as a little voice in the back of her head yelled out, 'That's what you get, you stupid bitch!' 

Arturo and Wade had managed to drag Maggie over to Rembrandt's side. "Logan," Wade shouted to her. "Move very, very slowly." 

"H-Huh?" Logan quivered. 

The tiger moved towards her and licked her face. Just that action forced Logan backwards into a seated position. It was indeed a very powerful animal, but didn't seem particularly interested in tearing her limb from limb and devouring her. Instead, the mighty cat yawned lethargically and purred. 

"The cats are drugged," Wade quietly and calmly explained. "We slipped them some of the same stuff we put in the other guy's wine into their water!" 

Logan looked over at the other sliders. She was scared stiff. 

"Move backwards and slowly come over here," Arturo told her. "Do not turn your backs on them, whatever you do!" 

Logan did what they said, slowly getting to her feet and walking backwards, ever so slowly, towards the other sliders. Her timer beeped a thirty-second warning. "T-Time to go," she whispered. 

The tigers, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned as they lumped into a pile and began sleeping, using each other as headrests. 

"What about him?" Rembrandt said, looking down at the fallen Gladiator. "Do we take him with us?" 

Arturo looked around. The crowd was on its feet yelling and screaming for blood. "I have a feeling that, as soon as we're gone and they have nothing to look at but a bunch of sleeping tigers and one sleeping Gladiator, this crowd will soon lose their taste for blood. As much of that elixir we used, I have the feeling that all concerned will be out for several hours." 

"We also left a note in the locker room explaining that we drugged him," Wade said. "He'll be fine." She looked at Logan. "Are you all right? You look a little pale." 

Logan shrugged. "I'm fine," she lied. Truth was, she wasn't fine at all. Despite having laughed off her realization, it had affected her deeply. 

And, with that, Loganretrieved the second time from Arturo and activated the wormhole to freedom. And, one by one, they began to jump in. Maggie was groggy when Rembrandt and Wade shoved her into the swirling vortex. 

"Why is she blue?" Logan asked. 

Wade scowled. "Later, when we're not playing David in the Lion's Den." 

Logan showed off the diamond necklace she was wearing. "What's say we find a pawn shop and get a nice comfortable suite on the next world?" 

"Where did you get that?" Wade demanded. 

Logan looked at Rembrandt. "I had me a sugar daddy." She placed the necklace in the professor's hand. "Let's go. I don't ever want to even think of this damn world again." 

Without another word, she walked into the vortex and out of sight. The others were left wondering why Logan seemed so sad, but she never explained it to them and they never bothered asking again. 

Rembrandt gave the VIP box and the shocked dignitaries one last look. Maximus and Gore just stood there with their mouths hanging open, watching the unexplained phenomenon unfold in front of them. 

Rembrandt gave a salute to the emperor with his middle finger and then, arm and arm with Wade, he leapt into the wormhole and out of reach of the New Roman Empire. 

The wormhole snapped shut, leaving a dozen sleeping tigers and one sleeping Gladiator alone on the field. 

The crowd was stone silent. Not even a murmur escaped them. 

In the VIP booth, Maximus and Gore stood silent… that silence broken only by a loud belch from the still very inebriated Senator Bush II. 

"Of course you know," Bush II said drunkenly, "this means… rematch!" 

----- 

The toilet could be heard flushing for the umpteenth time since the five checked into the Dominion. Logan's choker had fetched a considerable sum at the local pawnshop, so for the time being they were sitting pretty. Well, except for Maggie. 

"It doesn't sound like she's doing any better," Rembrandt said anxiously. "Is she going to be alright to continue? The window for this world is coming up fast." 

"The apothecary said she'd be sick for about a week," Wade said. 

"And if Max doesn't put out that cigar, I'm going to be sick," Logan said, adding a fake cough to emphasize her disgust. 

Arturo took a deep puff an exhaled out the window. "It's not every world we find where the embargo against Cuba has been lifted. I think I deserve a small reward for formulating the plan that saved you and Mr. Brown." 

"YOUR plan?" Logan growled. "I think I had a little something to do with it." 

"You made certain emendations it's true, but nothing I wouldn't have thought of in due time," Arturo snarked back. 

"God-damned Arturos and your god-damned egos…" Logan challenged. 

"Guys, guys, focus. We slide in five minutes. We've got a very sick Maggie. What are we going to do?" asked Rembrandt. 

On cue, Maggie emerged from the bathroom, her hair still stained blue. "I'm alright. I'm feeling much bet… oh god…" Maggie bolted back into the bathroom and the sounds of retching once again filled the air. 

"Well, we can't take puking beauty with us," said Logan. 

"Well, we can't just leave her here," said Wade in a mocking tone. 

"Why not? The timers' have the coordinates stored. We'll just come back and get her once she can keep down water," Logan fired back. 

"Professor," Wade cued, expecting Arturo to lecture Logan on dividing up the company. But she got an unexpected response. 

"I fear Logan may be right," he said. 

"Come again?" asked Rembrandt. 

"Maggie is in no condition to do much of anything let alone slide into some unknown world. What if we find ourselves in a situation where we have need of a hasty retreat?" Arturo hypothesized. "It's too dangerous — both for her and for us." 

"I agree," said Logan. "Tell you what. You guys are all in need of some rest. I'll volunteer to go it alone." 

The other three just glared at her. Logan shrugged. "Hey, it was worth a shot." 

"How about this instead," said Arturo as he put out his cigar. "Miss St. Clair and I will take this window of opportunity while Wade and Rembrandt stay with Maggie. With any luck, we'll get an equally short return window and be back in no time." 

"Think again," sneered Logan. "I've had all the one on one with Arturo that I can take. Someone else is coming with." 

"Okay, how about the professor stay with Maggie and Remmy and I will go with you," suggested Wade in an agitated tone. 

"I need to be on the slide in case something goes wrong with the timer," countered Arturo. 

"We are not getting split up," said Wade, grabbing on to Rembrandt's arm. 

"Then leave Maggie alone. She'll probably want the privacy anyway," Logan said as another flushing came from the bathroom. 

Wade clenched her fists and looked Logan in the eye. "You bitch." 

"Look, Wade, this train's leaving. I have to go. I'm sort of attached to the engine. If Max insists on going, then I insist on someone else coming along too," Logan replied, her stance hardening. 

The two women stared each other down, the color rising in both of their faces. But Wade blinked first. "Go, Remmy." 

"Are you sure, sweetheart?" Rembrandt asked. 

"Yeah," Wade said, choking back the bile. "I'll stay with Maggie. Besides, you don't do too well with sick people if I recall." 

Wade tried to smile at her joke, but she was too angry and frustrated to keep it for more than a half second. 

"I'm leaving the bulk of the funds with you, Wade," said Arturo. "We may only be gone for five minutes, but there is always the possibility we'll be gone a lot longer. However, I assure you, we will be back." 

"I know." 

"This world seems tame enough, although I admit I haven't had a good look at it yet. But on the plus side, the doctors here do make house calls. I've already placed the call and he should be here shortly," Arturo said. 

Logan's timer beeped its warning. "Timer, please." 

Arturo fumbled for the second timer and handed it to her, which she hooked into place. Logan opened the vortex. 

"Bye, Maggie!" shouted Logan. "Whatever you do, don't think of tapioca pudding!" 

Another retching noise was heard from the bathroom as Logan slid to the next world. 

"I'm sure everything will be fine," Arturo said, but the look on his face betrayed his words. The anxiety was evident. 

"Good luck, Professor," said Wade as she gave him a hug. 

"You too, my child," he said. 

Rembrandt embraced Wade. "We'll be back. Don't you worry." 

"You better be," Wade said as she held back a sniffle. 

Rembrandt lingered a little longer before summoning the courage to leave Wade and Maggie behind. "Go," Wade urged. Rembrandt nodded and jumped. 

When the vortex closed, Wade was alone in the suite with only the sound of running water coming from the bathroom to break the silence. 

The others had really slid without her. 

For a little while, it would be just her and Maggie. Maybe for a long while… but she couldn't think that way. 'Concentrate on now,' she told herself. Right now, Maggie needed her. 

She was about to call out to her incapacitated friend when there was a knock on the door. 'Must be the doctor,' she thought. Wade opened the door… and jumped three feet back. In front of her was the palest man she'd ever seen. But what was more alarming was that she'd seen him before. 

"I am Dr. Xang," the doctor with piercing eyes said. "Now, where is my patient? 

THE END 


End file.
